


The Red-Headed League

by MorganeUK



Series: AC Doyle Short stories modernization [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Adaptation, Clueless Sherlock, Eventual Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Forgiveness, Gen, M/M, POV John Watson, POV Sherlock Holmes, Pining John, Post-Season/Series 04, Protective Sherlock, Story: The Adventure of the Red-Headed League, The Red-Headed League
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-25
Updated: 2017-08-25
Packaged: 2018-11-14 15:52:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 11,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11211282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganeUK/pseuds/MorganeUK
Summary: I've decided to create a new series with AC Doyle modernization, this is the first one of a long series I hope!*A modernization of one of my favorite Sherlock Holmes adventure. The short story itself is wonderful and I have very fond memories of this episode in the Jeremy Brett years.A man called on Sherlock having a strange problem... and extraordinary red hair!I've situated this adventure after season 4... so it is a case fic but with more introspection and open heart discussion that AC Doyle have ever put in his story.





	1. A quite marvelous story

**Author's Note:**

> English is not my native language, not even my day-to-day one, so many many thanks to [notjustmom](http://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom/). You're the best!
> 
> Sherlock characters are created and owned by the BBC & Conan Doyle and I do not (sadly) claim any ownership over them.

 

(John's POV)

 

Everything was settling nicely since what I internally called "The Crazy Eurus Episode". Baker Street was back to its former bohemian glory, my relationship with Sherlock was slowly but surely healing and Rosie, Rosie was just perfect!

Once I left my little darling at the kindergarten, I decided to visit Sherlock as I had a few hours before starting my Friday shift at the surgery and he just texts me to come if I was available.  We were now seeing each other, with or without Rosie, at least once a week.  After a brief chat with Mrs. Hudson, I went up the stairs and knocked quickly, waiting for Sherlock's 'come in' before entering the flat.  It was strange to knock before going inside 221b, but it was not my home anymore and boundaries were important if we wanted to rebuild our friendship, properly.  

My friend wasn't alone, but with an older man with the brightest, reddest hair I have ever seen!  As it was probably a client, as Sherlock did not have any friends who I was not aware of, I offered to come back later to let them discuss the case in private. But Sherlock beckoned me over with an excitement that promised no good.

"No, no, John! Stay!  You couldn't have better timing!"

"But if you're with a client... I don't want to intrude..."

"Yes he is a client, if I decide to take the case, the beginning of the story is quite marvellous but I can't judge before I hear everything!"

"I'll go for a quick lunch at Speedy's then come back later then..." Our situation was nearly back to what had been normal for us, but not like before... everything.  _And certainly not to a 'Me and you against the world' relationship! Not yet..._ **   **

"No, don't go... please. This man, Mr. Wilson, is Doctor Watson, the same who wrote about our little adventures in his blog.  You don't mind if he stays? I would like for him to hear your fascinating story!"

The man got up as quickly as his stout stature allowed and rushed over to give me a strong handshake. After a few comments in the style of "Yes, yes, Doctor Watson" and "I love the story with the Pink case" he sat back in the 'client chair' while I seated myself into 'my' chair that Sherlock always keeps free for me.  I took the opportunity to look carefully at the odd man who was so stimulating for Sherlock.  Save for his wondrous red hair, nothing particular struck me about him; he was a little overweight and seemed probably 10 years older than his actual age. My thoughts were interrupted by Sherlock, who, with a dramatic flourish, went back to his chair. Putting his fingers under his chin, he started to talk to me, as if his potential client wasn't in the room.  

  "John, I know that you love the dramatic and the bizarre... What's outside the routine of day to day life.  This is why you used to like to write those little stories about my, our, cases..."

"You know that I really like to attempt to solve problems and the odd puzzle, even if I don't have your brain for it..."

"But you've always added a dash of embellishment and that slight romantic touch that shouldn't be in a criminal investigation." Sherlock smiled at me and pointed a long finger in my direction and turned his attention back to his client. "That man, Mr. Wilson, is an incurable romantic! If you can remember, the other day I said that for the weird and unusual there is no need to use your vivid imagination, as life can provide everything that you need for your blog if you should choose take it up again..."

"I still have my doubts, Sherlock. It's true that life can offer the extraordinary but it's always better with a hint of added drama!"  

We had argued this point many times before in these rooms... to Sherlock's analytical mind, my stories are too sensationalized, while I believe the public enjoys the touch of the dramatic.  But the familiar discussion was oddly comforting.  To me, it was evidence that even with all of the dramatic events of the last months, our friendship was still intact, buried under doubt and a slight feeling of betrayal, probably for good reason on both sides!  The poor client was looking from Sherlock to me, not certain if he was allowed to speak or not, perhaps feeling like an intruder.

"And now I have proof John, in the person of Jabez Wilson, that real life has nothing to envy in a well written BBC drama! A unique story John! Can you imagine that! Those heavy lips have uttered a story the likes of which I have NEVER heard! A good day, indeed!" A flash of doubt about Sherlock's over-enthusiasm flickered quickly in my mind.  _Is he on drugs? I've haven't seen him so alive in months!_ But as I had without any shame menaced him to not bring my daughter at Baker Street if I have a slight doubt about is _cleanliness_ , I'm pretty certain that his animation was naturally and surprisingly caused by the drab Mr. Wilson. 

"You know how I talked about my markers... people that I've always have an eye on. That everything is connected. Often stimulating and strange little things are linked to interesting but small crimes or sometime to no crime at all! In the present case, I have no idea whatsoever if a crime was, has been or will be committed! Isn't it great? But I know your time is precious John, so I'll stop and let Mr. Wilson talk.  Could you please begin your story once more? For Doctor Watson but also because I want to listen to everything a second time! It was so unique!"

  Like a kid in a candy store, Sherlock pulled his knees to his chin and watched the man with an inquisitive glare.  The client was oddly proud and, happy to get the attention of the detective, he pulled out his phone from the pocket of his coat. As he was looking on the phone, searching for something probably, I observe him carefully.  I wasn't as good as Sherlock, far from it!, but I always try to read the people I've met. I'm sorry to say that I found nothing of importance... He was a common man, British, slightly obese and kind of sluggish. His clothes were baggy and not very clean. His keys were on the table beside him: nothing peculiar except a square pierced bit of metal as a key ring. So nothing special or remarkable except his bright red hair, if natural I've never seen the like before! While I was looking at the man, Sherlock was looking at me... Classic.

"Come on Sherlock, have fun and go ahead. What have I missed?"

"Nothing John! Nothing of importance... You've probably already spotted that he used to do a lot of manual labour and that he is a Freemason. You know they're still flourishing in England, more than 200,000 members! I've been asked many time but the idea of grown men playing at...." 

He was interrupt by an irritated Mr. Wilson "What! Don't talk like that about Freemasons! You... You...shouldn't do that Mr. Holmes! You are really..."

Sherlock, not letting the man add something he may regret,  continued as if nothing was amiss. "You've probably also spotted that he spent some time in China and that he worked a lot on a computer recently.  Other than that, you know as much as me."

Jabez Wilson was astonished by the precision of Sherlock's deductions. He watched my friend with amazement, as if he was in the presence of a great illusionist.

"Mr. Holmes! I had heard you were good... but how did you know all this?  It's true. Everything. When I was a young man, I worked in construction as a carpenter. But how?"

"The hands? One is quite larger than the other one?" I asked, certain that I've got this right now that Sherlock pointed me in the right direction.

"Yes, that's it.  Good job John! And the Freemasonry?"

I look again at the man, finding nothing. My eyes fall on the keys and the key ring...  _that's it_! "Even though he is forbidden to, he uses a piece of metal embossed by an arc and compass as a key ring."

"Really good! And the computer..." It was so easy to fall back into this quick banter, not thinking about the surgery, the dramatic turns of the last year, the ordinary life that I have now... 

"I give up... I don't know how you deduced the computer work."  In fact, Mr. Wilson appeared to be many things, but certainly not a computer expert. 

"It's easy, you don't want to guess... No? Look at his coat, both cuffs are shiny for five inches.  They rest on a desk for long hours.  Also, the way our possible client rotates his right wrist to alleviate pain is typical of the primary stage of the Carpal Tunnel Syndrome. So a lot of typing recently and playing around with a computer mouse."

"Ok... Wow.  But China? How can you tell he's been in China?"

"You didn't see it? Ok, I change my mind, your skills have not improved at all! It's so easy... I bet that even Rosie could have found it, were she here!... The tattoo John! The tattoo!  Just above the wrist.  This type of tattoo is a China specialty and the little mark below the fish is the signature of one of the greatest tattoo parlours in Beijing."

Now, if I was honest, I was as impressed as Mr. Wilson! But it wasn't long before he laughed heavily, looking at Sherlock like he was a child doing a trick. 

"I thought at first that you had done something very clever, but, now I realize that it is nothing!"

"I should never explain my deductions, it breaks the spell." Sherlock sighed profoundly. "If anyone thinks they could do the same, I will lose my job!" Glaring at me with a look that clearly threatened me with unusual torment if I dared to laugh at the situation, he spoke to our guest with a little bit of impatience. "Have you found the ad, Mr. Wilson?"

"Yes, I have got it now," he showed his phone, open on a print-screen of a classified ad on Craigslist.

"John, could you please read it aloud for us?" 

I took the phone from the man's hands and read as follows:

_ "TO THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE: On account of the bequest of the late Ezekiah Hopkins, of Lebanon, Pa., U. S. A., there is now another vacancy open which entitles a member of the League to a salary of 250 pounds a week for purely nominal services. All red-headed men who are sound in body and mind and above the age of twenty-one years are eligible. Apply in person on Monday, at eleven o'clock, to Duncan Ross, at the offices of the League, 7 Pope's Court, Fleet Street." _

"What the hell is this?" I exclaimed, after I had reread the classified. 

"This is weird, isn't?" He was as excited as if Lestrade was giving him a triple-homicide on a silver-platter. "And now, tell us everything about yourself Mr. Wilson. Where do you live, what are you doing with your days, what do you think of the classified and of the amount of 250 they offer? John, could you please note everything? Your little book is right beside your chair, and please write first that the announcement was published two months ago on September 5, 2017... Now, go ahead, Mr. Wilson."


	2. A good colleague is hard to come by

 

(Sherlock's POV)

_ Oh God, this is a perfect day! I can't remember the last time I was so pleased. A good puzzle, John at my side, nobody is threatened by anyone, Mrs. Hudson is currently baking biscuits, I haven't heard of Mycroft for weeks... Perfect! And now, time for a story. This is brilliant! _

"I will tell you exactly the same thing that I told you an hour ago, you know, you should really get one of those little thing that can record voices... But, you're the boss! I wont challenge your methods.  So... Where to start.  I am the owner of a small shop in Leather Lane, near Smithfield Market you know?" 

The poor man was already exhausted and needed to pause to drink a little bit of water.  _Come on man... get on with it!_

"It's only a small cigar store, not a very grand place. But it's enough to make a living... I used to have two assistants, but now... only one. And one is already more that I can pay, but as he his willing to get only half wages, because he's learning the business and I give him the use of my basement for his hobby, it's fine for me."

"What's the name of this young man?" I ask, knowing full well that no one voluntarily accepted half wages without ulterior motive, unless he is a simpleton.  _On the other hand, I do not always charge my client but, it's not the same thing... Or is it?_

"He's not young, it's hard to guess and I never asked his age.  Maybe around 45 or 50, like you, Doctor Watson..."  _Ha! It's not quite so funny anymore John!_  "His name is Vincent Spaulding. I cannot ask for a better assistant, Mr. Holmes. I know that he can do better that what I can offer, but he is happy so... why should I ask too many questions? I don't want him to go!"

"It's true, a good colleague is hard to come by!"  _Really hard to come by_... I look at John with a light smile, but he was busy writing in his book. "You appear to be lucky enough to have found a good employee that cost you half of a bad one.  Mind me Mr. Wilson, your assistant is as unique as that Craigslist ad!"  

_ Mr. Wilson, the imbecile, looks really satisfied that I found Spaulding a remarkable man _ . Like if the outstanding characteristics of this man was reflecting positively on him.  

"Oh, he's not perfect, you know!" Mr. Wilson added, as if he would happily talk us through everything that has happened in his life. "He's an artist... I have nothing against  _that_  lot but... anytime he has a free moment he goes in the basement to work on his photography. The traditional stuff, with chemicals and a black room and so on. As I'm not able to pay him more, I let him use my basement free of charge."  _Chemicals, that it's more like it!_

"I really don't understand the appeal of all that fuss... Don't you think it's complicated for nothing? The new camera can do it more quickly, just have to go to Boots and the print them for you for a few pounds...." He looks bemused that someone would want to do it in the time tested ways. "As it is his only fault, I don't question it too much." 

"Where do you live? Near the shop or in a more affordable place?"

"Near the shop? I live IN the shop!"  He laughed heartily, wiping his brow with his hand. "I've set up a little one room apartment at the back. I am a widower, so it's only me... It's cheaper like that and I can keep an eyes on the shop. Every Sunday, I close the shop and go to my sister's house in Tunbridge."

"Thank you, I have now a nice understanding of what's going on in your life.  John, any questions for now?"  John smiles and nods negatively, knowing that the best was yet to come. "Now, talk to us about the advertisement..."


	3. It seems legit!

(John's POV)

 

"It's quite strange you know, when I think about all this... I don't know where to start..."

"With the beginning maybe?" Sherlock says with just a hint of sarcasm before adding a softer ,"Start with the first time you heard about the advertisement..."

"One morning, two months ago, Spaulding came down to my office while looking at his phone, a big smile on his face. I asked him what it was about? It's not that he his taciturn, but he's in no way a funny man!, and he explained to me 'I wish that I was a redheaded man like you, Mr. Wilson!' I look at him with surprise - because that it's not that fun to have red hair with the teasing and all - and then he shows me the ad."

Sherlock took back the phone to read it again and quickly sent the image to his own phone to keep a copy. "Continue your fascinating tale, Mr. Wilson."

"He went on and on about that a position was now available at the League of the Red-Headed Men and that I should contact them. I was certain that it was a scam, I am not an idiot, but Spaulding told me that before he talked to me he checked to be certain that It was for real!"

"It is very considerate of him..."

"Yes! He told me that in the case it wasn't real, he would have simply let it go without a word about it! But it seems legit... And it was 250 pounds a week. It's a lot of money if the job was only nominal. So I asked him more about this as he already checked everything!"

"And what was his conclusion?" Sherlock's eagerness was showing more and more...

"He asked me if I was a member of the League, as I was telling him no - God! I've never heard of that association! - he assures me that I was surely eligible for one of the positions available. 250 pounds, like the ad said, for a few hours of easy work per week."

"This is a great sum for a man in your situation, more than enough to keep you going and add more comfort to your life." My friend was once more focused on the man sitting in front of us. Sherlock, when enraptured by a case, was a striking sight. I could say he's looking like a sleek predator, but I've got the feeling I'm gone be called too 'poetic' again...

"You're right about this Mr. Holmes, a thousand pounds a month is a lot of money for anyone but for a poor shop owner it's the difference between keeping the shop or closing the door. So..."

"So?"

"I went for it! Spaulding explained everything to me and it was quite simple... A rich American, afflicted by the same red hair, decided to leave his enormous fortune in the hands of his lawyers with strict orders to create an association devoted to help men like him."

It was kind of silly, so I asked, "And how does it work? It can be that simple... giving money to random red-hair men?"

"You're right, Doctor Watson, it's not that easy. First, you needed to go to the meeting at the address that was on the advertisement... The crowd of people that was there! You can't believe how many red-headed men there are in London, it's unbelievable. All the shades: orange, brick, red, clay... I was ready to go back to my place, even if I had the brightest shade of them all, I wouldn't have lost my day standing in a room full of prettier younger man than me just to be sent home with a 'Sorry, but no!'. I was leaving the place when someone came near me."

"Did you know who it was?" Sherlock asks.

"No... but he had a badge of the society on his jacket and he looked quite official. He smiled and, just like that, asked me to come with him! I was feeling so lucky, Mr. Holmes, while leaving all the others behind me. Me, ME! Mr. Wilson of Leather Lane had been chosen for a talk with the president of the League!"

"You must have been very honoured, I'm certain... What did he talk to you about? Any confidential hair dye recipe or secret hand-shake?" I really don't know how Sherlock was able to keep his laughter in check. This is ridiculous.

"Don't laugh at me, Mr. Holmes! I was quite flattered to have been singled out. The gentlemen were all very polite and happy to meet me."

"What does the office and the men looks like? Could you please describe it to me?"

"A simple room, nothing flashy. A couple of chairs, a table. The president was already in conversation with a man, about thirty years old, with fierce orangey hair. He was quickly dismissed for a trivial reason and I was invited to sit in front of the president for a conversation. The door was closed behind me and we were the only three in the room. The president, me and the man who came in the waiting room to fetch me. They checked my hair thoroughly to confirm that it wasn't a wig or a tint. I've received many compliments on my hair and the good health and colour of it. We drank tea and they told me that I was the chosen one for this year and the recipient of the 250 pounds a week! We exchanged warm handshakes and that was all."

"And after that, what happened?"

"The secretary of the League, opened the door and shouted that the vacancy was filled. The disappointment was audible from inside the office, Mr. Holmes." The man made merry of his good fortune and the distress of the others. "... and they all left. The secretary presented himself as Mr. Duncan Ross and asked me, 'Are you a married man, Mr. Wilson? Have you a family?' I was so afraid that it was mandatory but I had to be honest, you know. I've told him that I was a widower, without any children."

"What was his reaction?"

"He was so sad... Saying that it was a serious problem as it was one of the conditions! My smile fell, Mr. Holmes, you've got no idea how terrible I felt... The 250 pounds! The 250 pounds were gone even before I touched them... But the president spoke up and he said that for a red-head as remarkable as me, they could make an exception! The happiness I felt! Everything was all right again."

"It was the last step to get your hands on this small fortune?"

"They asked me when I could start my duty... It was once again awkward because I had to tell them that I was the owner of a little shop and I couldn't leave anytime I wanted..."

"And they were reasonably okay with that also I presumed?" Sherlock interest was again focused solely on Mr. Wilson and his story.

"Yes.. yes... They asked me if I had someone I trust to mind the shop few hours a day. I called Spaulding and he was up to it, without any problem!"

"All was for the better then... And what are the duties you are to perform?"

"I must go to the office of the society, every weekday between three and six. Most of my business is during lunch hour or in the evening so it was perfect! And, anyway, Spaulding will be there if a client shows up."

"Yes, it seems that everything was lay out splendidly... And what was the work?"

"Purely nominal. I had to be in the office - this is the major condition Mr. Holmes, they where really clear! - and the work is easy. I must use a computer and write all the articles of Encyclopaedia Britannica using a basic text program."

"And you accepted?"

"Of course! But... I must admit, once I was back home I had my doubts! It was so farfetched, Mr. Holmes. A society of red-haired men? A rich American? Encyclopaedia Britannica? 250 pounds a week?!"

"It very sensible for you to have doubts, and it's a good idea to check with Mr. Holmes before to be certain that nothing is dishonest!" I said, finally understanding why Mr. Wilson was there this morning. He was not as foolish as I thought if he decided to check more thoroughly that extravagant story!

"You don't understand, Doctor Watson! I went for it!"

"Oh... Sorry I thought..." I looked at Sherlock with a questioning gaze.

"I don't know anything more, John, this brave man stopped exactly at the same place when you knocked at the door. The rest of this adventure is as new for me as for you! Go ahead, Mr. Wilson, go ahead..."

"The morning after, I was seriously thinking about not going to the office at 3. When Spaulding arrived, not knowing about my doubt, he confirmed that everything was ok and that he will be in the shop between 3 to 6 this afternoon. I told him about my hesitation, but he quickly dismissed all my arguments. And, at the end, I should at least give it a go!"

"So, you left Mr. Spaulding in your shop and left for Fleet Street in the middle of the afternoon?"

"Yes, that's right. It's only a 20 minute walk, so I closed the door of the shop at two thirty Didn't want to be late on my first day of duty!" He laughed, like he was judging his own foolishness.

"What happened?" Sherlock asked.

"Everything was at it should be! Mr. Ross was there to set up my work station. He brought me to a small room with a desk and a computer. He showed me how I was supposed to write and save my work and left me to it. He reminded me that I shouldn't leave the building before 6. Once alone, I opened the Encyclopaedia at the letter A and started my work. At 6 sharp, Mr. Ross knocked on the door, checked my work and complimented me on it then wish me a nice evening and left."

"You went back to your shop directly after?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. Spaulding was there, nothing seemed amiss. He went home, and left me alone for the evening. I did exactly the same each day until the end of the week when Mr. Ross gave me 250 pounds in cash for my work. I was really satisfied Mr. Holmes! I've learned a lot while working with the Encyclopaedia and made a great deal of money. It went on for weeks... And I was becoming really good with the typing and all. I had written about all the words beginning by A. Archery, Armour... Architecture... I was on my way for the letter Bs!"

"And what happened then?" I asked, really curious this time. But I should go before I'm late to my shift at the surgery!

"How do you know something happened?" He asked as if I was as brilliant as Sherlock. A nice change.

"You wouldn't be here if nothing had happened! But at home thinking about how to spent your 250 extra pounds!" Sherlock replied with a sharp tone.

"It's true... You're right." An anxious frown appeared on his face.

"Mr. Wilson..." Sherlock was becoming impatient.

"Oh, sorry, Mr. Holmes. Yesterday I went to the League office on Fleet Street at my usual time. But... it was empty! My desk, the computer, even the Encyclopaedia, all gone! A piece of paper was pinned on the door..." He took a paper from his pocket and gave it to Sherlock.

"THE RED-HEADED LEAGUE IS DISSOLVED. Nov. 2, 2017."


	4. You should be more serious if you want to be a detective

(Sherlock's POV)

 

I took the page from Wilson's hands, but I couldn't find any clue. Normal office grade paper, print on a bubble jet printer. I look at John... not knowing what to do next and it was so absurd that we both start laughing without being able to stop. I was so relieved that we where able to do so... With a mere glance, evaluating a situation and being able to react accordingly together, as one. It wasn't how to move to escape a gunshot or where to run to stop a criminal, but that united laugh was a good start.

"I don't see what so funny, Mr. Holmes, you should be more serious if you want to be a detective... and you Doctor Watson... you're, you're a DOCTOR!" Our client was now picking up his coat and was moving toward the door. "If you don't want to help me, I will take my business elsewhere!"

"No, no, no" I walk over to the man and help him back to his chair. "I really want to take your case. It is quite unusual but don't you think it's also kind of funny?" Mr. Wilson wasn't looking pleased at my comment... "Tell me, sir, what did you do when you found the door closed?"

"I was flabbergasted! I did not know what to do. I called the League without any reply, I contacted the administration of the building... Nothing! I then spoke to the janitor, you know they always know everything, and asked about the League."

"And what did he say to you?"

"That he had never heard about the League! I asked about Mr. Duncan Ross, nothing again! I was frazzled... I told him 'You know, it's the gentlemen at No.4' then he said that No.4 was not rent to a Mr. Ross but a Mr. Morris and that he moved out yesterday without leaving any forwarding address."

"What did you do then?"

"I went back to my shop where I talked to my assistant. But he couldn't help me either... he suggested that maybe something would come by mail. But that wasn't enough Mr. Holmes! I won't lose that place without fighting for it! This is why I am here this morning."

"And it was a great idea Mr. Wilson, your case is really quite intriguing and I, we, will be quite pleased to look into it. I am afraid that something sinister could be linked to this curious story..."

"More terrible than me losing 250 pounds per weeks? It can't be!"

"From an exterior perspective, Mr. Wilson, I don't think that you have the right to have any complaint against the League. You are now richer than you were, and you gained knowledge on all the words beginning with the letter A."

"Maybe Mr. Holmes, but I don't like when people are making fun of me. If all this is a prank, an expensive joke, I want to know why."

"Of course, you're right! We will put all our efforts to clarify everything. But, first, I've got few questions for you, Mr. Wilson."

 "Go ahead, Mr. Holmes. I'll tell everything you need to help you." His face was full of determination and Sherlock started to rapidly ask questions.

"Your assistant, Mr. Spaulding, how long had he been working with you before he brought the advertisement to your attention?"

"One month, yes, 4 weeks precisely."

"How did you met him?

"I'd put an advertisement because I was looking for an assistant."

"Was he the only applicant?"

"Oh no, I had dozens!"

"Why did you choose him among all the others?"

"He was a nice man, handy and well educated. And he would come cheap."

"At half wages, if I recall?"

"Yes. That's right."

"Could you describe him to me?"

"Physically? A small man, no beard or moustache like the young are doing nowadays, stout-built but very quick. No tattoo or other non-sense but a scar on his forehead that was cause by one of the chemicals he use for his photography."

Oh, this is good! Sherlock looks at John but the doctor wasn't reacting to the description as he should. Come on John! Small, stout-built, scar on the forehead!. "It's all good, thanks for the information. One more thing, do you know if his ears are pierced for earrings?"

"Yes, we laugh about it the other day. He said that it was a bet with one of his friends after too many beers!"

"Ah... good... good. He's still with you then?"

"Of course, I just left him at the shop this morning."

"That all for now, Mr. Wilson. I should contact you in two days with the conclusion my research. But, one more thing, could you please leave your shop tomorrow night in the good hands of Mr. Spaulding?"

"But... why?"

"Humour me, ask him and leave for your sister's house Saturday night for a sleep over instead of Sunday."

"I will, Mr. Holmes, but I don't understand..."

 

I swiftly escorted my client to the door without replying to his question then I turned to John, who was still taking notes. "Ha! John! What do you think of all that!" Obviously, John hadn't figured out a thing...

"I don't know. It is most strange... But is this a case? I'm certain Lestrade can find you a murder or two if you're feeling bored."

"No, John, no... As a rule the more weird and bizarre crimeless puzzle are always the best. I need to think about this seriously"

John closed his book and put it on the coffee table before he got up to put on his coat. He was leaving... Why? Oh yes... His 'job'. This is silly why does he want to go to a boring job when they're a nice puzzle to solve. "What are you going to do, then?" John asked.

"To think. This is a three patch problem... But don't worry I'll only put on one!" Just before I closed my eyes to go in my Mind Palace, I ask one more thing of John. "They are playing Sarasate at St. Martins-in-the-fields in one of their late 'candlelight' tomorrow night. What do you think, John? Could your daughter spare you for a few hours?"

"She's usually at sleep at 8, so it's not a problem if you want company. I'll ask Molly to babysit, if she's available at such a short notice on a Saturday night."

"She will, no doubt. Great, meet me outside the Chancery Lane Station around 8."

 "Perfect, I've got to go or I'm going to be late. See you later."

 


	5. I am not stupid you know

(John's POV)

 

Saturday night, I left home as soon as Molly arrives, not wanting to discuss where I was going.  Not that I have anything to hide, but... Molly is more intuitive than she usually get the credit for and I don't want her to read how eager I am to go out with Sherlock.  _Go out, God, this is not a bloody date!_ After a little chit chat, I left her with a drowsy Rosie and made my way to the tube station.

He was there, waiting in front Chancery Lane Station, looking at his phone with deep concentration. I took the opportunity to watch him from afar. Not in a stalker kind of way, but just because I rarely have the chance to look at him when he's alone and not interacting with someone.  To see the real Sherlock Holmes. He looks fine and in better general condition than few months ago. _If I must be honest, he is looking fucking striking._

He has overcome the unhealthy shine his drugs relapse left on him.  _I must call it for what it was even if he said that it was a 'controlled usage'.._. The image of Sherlock, high as a kite, was still fresh in my mind, not over excited and focused like when I took him out of the den a year ago,  _is it really only a year?,_  but the confused and paranoiac version of my friend following his descent into hell during the Culverton Smith's affair.  Still a bloody genius, but so broken and unable to trust his own mind that it was terrifying.   Then not long after, Sherlock had to deal with the Eurus business where his psycho sister played with his reason and heart until she nearly broke his sanity. It is now ok, and Sherlock often visits his sister to play violin with her, but he never talks about what happen at Sherrinford. And what happened after his false suicide. He never talked about it either.  Or how I betrayed him in all the ways a friend possibly can...

"John? What are you doing there?" I nearly scream when my friend comes over to where I was hidden. 

"Oh, nothing! Sorry, I was lost in my thoughts and didn't realize you were already there!" I lied, of course I lied...  _I can't tell Sherlock that I've been spying on him for the last 10 minutes... but he knows. Of course the git knows!_

"Come on, let's go! We have time for a quick bite before, I know just the right place."

"I am not stupid, I know why we are here, miles from St. Martins!  Mr. Wilson's little shop is just around the next corner..."

"And there a nice pub just beside it! So it's a win-win situation. Supper and... a quick look in on the shop and if we are lucky, to the estimable assistant Mr. Spaulding."

"Go ahead, I'll follow your lead as usual..." I was smiling,  _a 'date' or a relaxing evening with my best friend indeed, was what I  had been dreaming about!_ We walk down Holbord street then turn onto the small Leather Lane.  The pub, The Sir Christopher Hatton, was there as well as Mr. Wilson's little shop.  Sherlock walks inside the cigar shop, a man appears quickly to ask if we need anything. My friend made a show of looking at an expensive lighter, chooses one and asks for gift-wrap.  When we were out of earshot of the shop he said, "That is an intelligent man! In fact, probably the fourth smartest man in London. Maybe even the third! Depending on where I rank Mycroft..." He was smiling his 'predator-in-a-zoo' kind of smirk.

"Surely, Mr. Wilson's assistant is important in this fantastic story of the Red-headed League! I know that you went into the shop only to have a look at him."

"Not at him, but at his trousers!" He was grinning even more.  

"What?" 

But we were now in front of the pub, it was next door to the shop. We choose a remote table and, after a quick survey of the menu we ordered beers.  Sherlock left me in front of my pint to go to the restroom to wash his hands and I was once more alone with my thoughts. 

A pub. It's been a long time for me, I'm trying to avoid those now.  I drank too much after Mary's death and I don't trust myself.  But this is a clean place, almost more a restaurant than a pub. And Sherlock, Sherlock is here with me so it is good.  My therapist, a real one vetted by Mycroft this time, says that it's ok to drink moderately while in company. So it's all good.  I don't know if Mycroft told his brother about this... About Dr. Gallagher and her specialty: anger management. She was trying to help me to find the way to apologize to Sherlock about the way I, I... I nearly killed him. But how can ask for forgiveness for THAT? I know that he has already forgiven me, but it's not right! He shouldn't, not that easily. We must talk about this for real... talk about the future of our friendship. We must be open towards each other. We must talk, but...But... Where the hell is he? It can't take him that long to go to the loo!


	6. It may have been illegal and a little bit dangerous

(Sherlock's POV)

 

As soon as our beers arrive at our table, I leave John alone to go to the restroom... or more precisely to sneak in the back of the pub.  I go to the back, near the restroom, and slowly open the door of the stockroom.  At the end of the room, the delivery door was slightly open as the bartender and one of the waitresses where having a cigarette while chatting randomly about the next week-end. I hide myself behind boxes and wait.  _Could you please just go to work! How long are your bloody breaks anyway!_

Finally, they walk through the stockroom to go back to the bar.  I quickly open the door and find myself in a small courtyard shared between few buildings.  The back door of Mr. Wilson's shop was there... Good.  I pick up a heavy metal rod that was usually closing the street gate and start to beat the pavement of the courtyard methodically. After half an hour, I returned to an annoyed John.  His beer not even half empty.   _This is excellent, the therapist is doing an adequate job._

"Where the hell have you been?"

"The loo, I told you. Sorry I took so long... Have you checked the menu?"

"Have I... I've had the time to learn it by heart! Don't lie to me, what are you up to?"

"Ok... I had to check something in the courtyard."

"And you didn't ask me to join you because...?"

"It may have been illegal and a little bit dangerous and I didn't want to risk your health with you being a... father and all that."

"SHERLOCK! I am aware that I am a father, but I am able to decide if a situation is too risky for me. And, anyway, if it's too risky for me it's bloody too risky for you!" John voice was a bit harder and louder but his general attitude was calm.  _More than adequate then._

"I will never do something again without asking you first, then. At least... when you're around. Happy? What to do you want to eat? Something quick, we only have 1 hour 30 before Sarasate!"

"We will talk about this Sherlock!"  I know that John won't let it go that easily, but for now he is waving at the waitress and we change the subject. 

After the meal, we walk in direction of Trafalgar Square where the St-Martins-in-the-field church was located.  While walking around tourists I was thinking of the conversation I just had with John.  Do I have the right to decide for him what he should or should not do?  He is able to take care of himself, as he showed me many times!  But, today's John is more fragile that he used to be... He was never as reckless as me,  _except when he felt I was in danger if I must be honest_ , but since my return a gravity that wasn't there before has fallen on his shoulders. I don't know what to think of that...  On one side John was again deeply protective of my health and security but on the other hand he left me so alone after the wedding, let me sacrifice myself on behalf on Mary and the baby and... and... the mortuary.  _What am I supposed to do? Sentiment... it was easier when I didn't give a damn about anyone!_  

"Sherlock, do you have the tickets?"

We were in front of the illuminated church.  John let me woolgather for the whole 20 minute walk... "Sorry about that, I was... thinking about the case.  The tickets are at the box-office under my name.  I helped the director by solving a case of a delicate matter and..." 

We were now inside the church where the candlelight was glowing spectacularly on the cream walls and dark mahogany benches and architectural details. The music starts and we sat in silence together for the next 90 minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been few times for a candlelight show at St-Martins-in-the-field. If you go in London, you should try it if you love classical music (or not!). The Cafe in the Crypt is also brilliant!
> 
> http://www.stmartin-in-the-fields.org/music/concerts/


	7. I didn't understand, until recently...

(John's POV)

I don't know anything about music but Sherlock was enthusiastic about the quality of the small orchestra.  After a quick check with Molly, I decided to walk with Sherlock the 40 minutes or so to Baker Street and take a cab home from there. We talk of nothing and everything... About his parents, my daughter, the hectic life of my sister Harry, the surgery, old and recent cases. Everything with the exception of feelings. _Oh God it is so hard to be a middle-aged British man! When was the last time we had a real conversation.  It' was before Sherrinford, at Baker Street when I talked about Mary...  Sherlock's hesitation before he decided to take me in his arms, not knowing how to react to my sobs, afraid that I will probably reject him or worse afraid that I assault him again... That simple 'It is what it is' encapsulated everything. That what is done is done, that we can only go forward. We just have to want to.  What was the lyric of that Oasis song? You can have it all but how much do you want it? Or something like that.  I want my best friend back._

"Sherlock..." I put my hand on his arm to stop him.

"Yes John? What is it?" He was in the middle of a crazy story of a circus acrobat that was in fact a spy from North Korea...

I look into the inquisitive eyes of my friend.  "Did you ever call her? Irene Adler?"

"What are you talking about... Ah... That day, after the conversation, the Woman's text and the cake."

"Yes.  I've told you that if you found someone you shouldn't waste a minute waiting."

"If I somewhat admire Ms. Adler's intelligence and cunning perspective on life, I do not love her. We exchange texts a few times per year and we keep tabs on each other but that's all."

"What are you talking about?"  _I wasn't jealous of her, but I've got the impression that Sherlock discusses things with her that he doesn't want to talk to me about and I envy that._

"The country where she is, the weather, a play or a concert that one of us saw... Nothing serious really. Sometimes she helps me to get a clearer view of... sentiments that I can't put a name to. When I have no one to talk with, I know she's always there." 

Sherlock's voice was quiet, secret like.  It was a rare thing for me to see my friend so emotional. "That's good, I am happy that you've got someone to talk to when I am not around...I know that I've not been a good friend in the last year." Sherlock turns toward me protesting "No, let me talk... please."

My friend looks in my eyes and with a nod, slowly starts to walk again. We here now at the corner of Baker Street. With the little courage that was left in me, I try to put my thoughts in order while the discussions I had with my therapist were echoing in my head.

"I thought a lot about how I acted when you came back you know... I know now that I was so afraid of losing the life I've finally been able to build without you. That I was afraid that Mary, like the others, was going to leave me, afraid to face the importance you have in my life." _The days, weeks, where I try to stay away from Baker Street...away from you when you came back._ "When you and Mary became 'friends', working together to create the perfect wedding, it was like a dream come true... Except that I was jealous of your friendship! Your not usually so accepting of new people like that... but probably her being a spy was a bonus puzzle for you." _How could you replace me like that with Mary!_ "When I learned that she... shot you I was furious, I hated her so much!" _How dare she puts a bullet into the man I... into my friend._ "And then, Mr. Sherlock Holmes detective extraordinaire you decided to pardon her, asked me to do the same and help her to deal with Magnussen by committing a murder..."

I look into Sherlock eyes "I didn't understand, until recently. You were simply sacrificing yourself _again_ for me, protecting me, to give me the happiness and the normal life you thought I craved. The suicide mission against Moriarty, you were my Best Man even though you loathed all those traditions, letting Mary go and protecting her when she should have been put away indefinitely by Mycroft for shooting you, the killing of Magnussen... After her... death... You followed the crazy plan she left you, nearly died of an overdose, were nearly killed by Smith and... me.  All that to protect me and save me from myself."  I was crying now, big fat tears were running down my cheeks. 

"John... don't cry. It's ok. I'm a grown man and everything I did was because I wanted to do it. Nobody force me."

"I know... that is why I owe you so much. So much..." _Oh God, this is hard.  It's so much easier in the doctor office!_

"You saved me many times from my reckless behaviour, I think we are probably even."  Sherlock looks at me with a soft smile. 

"It's not the same and you know it... Please allow me to thank you from the bottom of my heart and to properly ask for your forgiveness for all the pain I caused you. Mentally and... physically."

My friend's smile deepened. "You know John, you brought me all kinds of emotions that I wasn't aware I had inside of me... And those emotions have created the man I am today." He pulled me into his arms in a strong hug and murmured at my ear "But if you hit me again, I'm sorry to say I will defend myself as I don't plan to fall in another drug induced stupor any time soon."  He laughed and quickly put my arms tightly beyond me while immobilizing me on the pavement with his knee on my back.  "See?"

He released me and gave me his hand to help me up.  His merry demeanour nearly masked the steel of his gaze.  It was friendly advice... but advice nonetheless. I kept my hand in his for a little longer than a regular handshake and simple reply "If I hurt you again, I will fully deserve anything that Mycroft will want to throw at me." I quickly spotted a CCTV and winked at it.  Sherlock laughed and we walked the few meters that separate us from 221B. 

In front of the door, after a pause where doubt and questions were passing through his eyes, my friend looked at me and asks "You want to go home, no doubt, John?"


	8.  I was aware that you were up to no good!

(Sherlock's POV)

 

When we shake hands, it was like the renewal of a contract. A contract that started years ago while we were running across London to catch a cabby.  _What did I say at the pub?_ _I will never do something without asking you first, then. At least, when you're around. Sigh..._

"You want to go home, no doubt, John?"

"Yes, it would be as well... Do you need me? Molly told me that she can sleepover if needed..." 

"I will be honest with you John... I was planning to go back on Leather Lane in a few hours, around 1:30in the morning as the pub closes at one."  I was trying to talk as lightly as possible but I was clearly not working!

"What! SHERLOCK! We talked about it few hours ago.  You can't go alone in a dangerous place... It's going to be dangerous, isn't it? Be honest?"

"Yes... probably. But I was planning on calling Lestrade. This business of the League is serious. Really serious." 

"Why serious? What is behind all this funny red-headed story?"

"A substantial crime is in progress and I have every reason to believe that we shall be right on time to stop it. Do you, by any chance, have your revolver with you?"

"Of course... I'm not an idiot. I was aware that you were up to no good!" _Good man!_

"Come on up at the flat, we have time for a cup of tea."

 

After we've made tea, John was sitting in his chair and was looking at me with a curious expression.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing... it's just that... I don't think I am stupider of any other man, more dense than you of course, but I am a doctor, and I am not an idiot. I have heard exactly the same story as you, the same confused and grotesque tale. The red-headed man, the 'Encyclopaedia Britannica', the importance of the courtyard behind the shop... But I can't see anything in all that.  And not only do you understand the importance of Mr. Wilson's adventure, but you know what's going to happen in the middle of the night!"

"Don't worry John, Gav... Greg won't probably understand a thing either." I picked up my mobile to contact Lestrade.


	9. 100 Halton Garden

(John's POV)

 

We left Baker Street an hour later. It was only a 15 minutes cab ride to get back near Leather Lane, at the corner of Greville Street where Lestrade and a few of his men were waiting.

"Sherlock, is this for real?" Lestrade asks as soon as we were close enough.

"Have you put men near Mr. Wilson's shop as I asked?"

"Yes. Donavan is there with my best man and four cars are waiting in a nearby alleyway. Thanks for the key, it will be easier for them to be quiet. But are you certain? You can't be wrong on this mate, it's too big."

"I'm not wrong."

"Where the hell did you find the key?" I murmur to my friend.  "In Mr. Wilson's pocket, John, please keep up will you?" Sherlock murmured back with a little smile.

We were now at the corner of Greville Street and Halton Garden.  Sherlock, myself, Lestrade, and a few other heavily armed policemen, SWAT probably. A civilian was standing outside the group, looking slightly panicked. The special unit officer was talking to Lestrade while looking with doubt at Sherlock.

"Hum... Sherlock? Care to explain a bit what is going on?" I say quietly to my friend who was looking with great attention at the street.

"I told you when we were at Baker Street! It's John Clay and Mr. Wilson's shop is exactly on the other side of 100 Halton Garden!" _He was looking at me with that damn 'must I really explain?' look. I've sent an irritated gaze at Greg, but he was in conversation with the other officer._

"You may have great confidence in Mr. Holmes, Robertson." he said. "He has his way, his methods, but he has the makings of a great detective in him and he is really rarely wrong."

"Maybe, Lestrade, but if my men are out for nothing your division will pay the bill. And tonight I am missing a poker game to be here! Better be good."

Sherlock, who was listening to the conversation, went over to the man. "I think you will find that you will play for a higher stake tonight than you have ever have before, and that the play will be more exciting."

Looking at our little gang, my friend took control of the conversation and talk clearly enough to be heard by all. "You all know who John Clay is:  A murderer, thief, and forger. He is at the top of his profession, and presently I would rather have my hands on him than on any criminal in the UK. He's an incredible man." Sherlock's speech was nearly respectful, but he had always been an admirer of great intelligence. "His grandfather was a duke, he himself went to Eton and Oxford... Unlike Moriarty, is brain is as crafty as his fingers. He likes to be an active part of his plots and, even if we know that he was a part of many crimes, we never know where to find the man himself. I've been on his track for many years, and have never set eyes on him... yet."

"What? That innocent looking man? Mr. Wilson's assistant?" I ask Sherlock with amazement. This is not possible! "But... Why? Why all that comedy about the red-hair?"

Sherlock looked at me with fondness while Lestrade joined our little group. "I hope that I may have the pleasure of introducing you all to him to tonight. I've had one or two little turns also with Mr. John Clay in the interrogation room and I must agree with Sherlock that he is at the very top of his profession!"

"Ok then. It is now the time... Merryweather, all security is deactivated now? I'll go first with my men, Lestrade, you will follow with your team.  I don't want Holmes or any other civilian inside before everything is secure." Robertson and his man walk with great care in direction of the entrance of 100 Halton Garden.

"Stay with us Mr. Merryweather." Sherlock says to the lonely man. "This man, John, is personally interested in tonight's affair." We finally heard Lestrade calling us. "They are waiting for us."

While Merryweather and I followed Sherlock inside the building, I thought about the change in my friend's behaviour.  I couldn't recall a case where he accepted willingly to stay behind while the police do their job. _Ever!_

Once we were inside the building, we followed Merryweather to the basement.  Sherlock was looking with great interest at the corridor, the heavy doors, the floor, the ceiling... Until they reached the rest of the group, near the door of a safe room.  The man entered a code on a keypad and confirmed his identity with retinal authentication and the door opened.  _I felt like we were in a movie!_

"You are quite protected against any intruder, Mr. Merryweather"

Proudly, the man banged on the wall many times to show the solidity of the structure. The sound was hollow, not what can be expected of a vault! Merryweather stared at Sherlock with horror and shouted "It's not possible Mr. Holmes!!"

"I must really ask you to shut up now." Sherlock quietly said. "Sit down upon one of those chairs, and get out the way."

The sombre Mr. Merryweather silently obeyed while the detective inspected the wall silently, measuring the echo of a light knock, putting his ear upon the wall...

"Lestrade, Roberston, we have probably less than one hour to wait... Stay as silent as possible but be on alert."  Sherlock then walked toward me, pulling me away from the vault.

"I presume you still have questions?"

"... Yes! Where are we? And don't reply 100 bloody Halton Garden!"

"We are in the basement below The London Diamonds Bourse."

"What? But... why?"

"Mr. Merryweather is the chairman of directors, he can probably explain it better than me. Mr. Merryweather, you may speak softly now, please explain to us why one of the greatest criminals in the UK is particularly interested in your basement?"

" A few days ago, we received the biggest shipment of diamonds in our history," whispered the director. "The lot will be separated and sold to hundred of jewellers next week."

"So if someone wanted to steal everything..."

"It's now or never." the chairman finished. 

Lestrade walked toward us, and spoke quietly, "The noise is louder, they are getting near the vault wall."

"We must turn off all the flashlights and stay silent." Sherlock whispered. "We are going to surprise a very dangerous man and we must be careful."

Lestrade asked Mr. Merryweather to stay behind us. "If they fire, have no second thoughts about shooting them down."

I discreetly took out my revolver and stayed close to Sherlock. The lights were now out and a darkness such I have never experience falls upon us. The weight of my gun and the smell the metal was there, reassuringly.

"They have only one other way out," Sherlock whispered in my ear. "That is back through Mr. Wilson's shop and Donovan's team is already there waiting. There is only one thing to do: wait."


	10. Mr. Sherlock Holmes I presume?

(Sherlock's POV)

 

_Oh God, it's killing me! Waiting... waiting is ok when you are watching for something unknown. But waiting the ineluctable, the minutes are long._ Our limbs were stiff from being alert, our hearing so acute that we were jumping at any small noise. The breath of each man distinct and clear.  I felt John's presence near me better than if we were in bright sunlight. _What's that?_ I place my hand on Lestrade's arm to draw his attention to a small ray of light on one of the walls.  The light grew stronger and stronger with each passing minute.  Finally the flame of the blow torch passed thru the heavy metal of the wall.  The small light was enough to softly illuminate the men around me.  We retreat in the darkness to the corner of the gigantic vault. And we wait... _Again._

After an hour, the criminals managed to create a big enough hole to be able to enter the safe.  We were ready for them. A big man came first, followed by a young man with boyish feature and a man with great red-hair. At last, John Clay entered the room with a satisfy smirk.

"It's all clear," he whispered. "Open the bags and bring the chisel. Great Scott! Time to open all those safe boxes!"

The elite troops walked out of the darkness and point their guns at the gang.  Lestrade, showing his badge, shout "Clay, you're under arrest! Hands up in the air... RIGHT NOW!"

I was the nearest to Clay, so I sprung behind him and seized the mastermind by the collar. "It's no use, Clay, you have no chance at all." His men were rapidly handcuffed without any possibly of resisting.

"I see," the criminal answered calmly, "I presume my other friends are in the same predicament?"

"Yes. The shop is also full of policemen."

"Oh... You seem to have done the thing very completely. You are not from the police force then... Oh... Mr. Sherlock Holmes I presume? I must compliment you."

I wasn't able to resist and replied "And I you. Your red-headed scheme was very original and effective."

Lestrade grumbled, probably something about that it's not good to compliment a criminal, and put his hand on Clay to secure his hands as well. "Stop talking Clay, it's over."

"Don't touch me with your filthy hands," the prisoner growled haughtily, "I have noble blood in my veins and you should, when you talk to me, say 'sir' and 'please.'" He turned his face toward me. "Mr. Holmes, you know that is what should be done, having been to Eton and Oxford yourself. We are both gentleman."

"Yes, but a gentleman knows when he is beaten and that the elegant thing to do is to _déclarer forfait_." 

"All right, then," Greg said with a little laugh "Would you please, _sir_ , follow me to the police station?"

"That is an improvement, detective," John Clay serenely replied. He made a quick head bow to me and walked between Lestrade and Robertson.

A shaky Mr. Merryweather appeared in front of me, now that the commotion was over. "Really, Mr. Holmes, I do not know how we can thank you or repay you. This is the most complete success over the most unusual robbery attempt I have ever heard of!"

_Money... Why people always talk about money. It was easier when John was taking care of all that._ "Regarding this case, I had only small expenses that you can refund if you want... I may have a bill or two somewhere." _Can I ask for the refund of yesterday's meal? Oh God I am useless at that sort of thing._ "Anyway, I consider myself amply repaid by the fantastic tale of the Red-headed League."


	11. My life is one long attempt to escape boredom

(John's POV)

 

An hour later, we were back at Baker Street.  It was easier for me to simply stay there for the night instead of waking Molly.  With a whisky in hand and a roaring fire, I was suddenly feeling like the last years weren't real and that nothing has changed.  

 "You see, John, it was clear that all this business of the Red-headed League was a scam... But why?"

 I turn my gaze to Sherlock, waiting for him to continue his deduction and fill the blank in the story for me.

"It was obvious that the main object of the Craig's List ad was to get Mr. Wilson away of his shop few hours a day.  The 250 pounds, the Encyclopaedia, the interdiction of leaving the office, Clay planned this for one thing only: to get access to the shop basement. It was a strange way to do it, but really effective!"

"But how can you really know? Strange things can happen... and a rich American with a funny will is not that farfetched." It can be so simple!

"Yeah... maybe. But playing the assistant was the nail in the coffin.  A nice man, well educated, etc accepting half-wages? It's just not on. I just had to discover his ulterior motive."

"But how could you guess what the motive was? The diamonds? How?"

"If Mr. Wilson had been married, I should have thought it was mere vulgar adultery... But that was out of the question as he is a widower. The business was small, nothing of interest for a criminal and the expense of creating the fake League... I thought about the assistant's partiality to traditional photography and the time he passed in the basement."

"It's true,  it was a bit strange but not that unusual."

"When Mr. Wilson described the man, it was my 'eureka' moment. The description, including a scar on his forehead, matched John Clay's description perfectly. The only thing left was to find what he was doing undercover in a small shop..."

"You said that you looked at his knees, when we went to the shop, why?"

"I was looking for stained trousers. My theory was that he was supervising the creation of a tunnel."

"A tunnel can go in many direction, how can you know it was going to the Diamonds Exchange?"

"When we were at the pub, I went in the courtyard at the back.  By knocking on the pavement with a stick, I found a change in the quality of sound at certain places.  I was able to estimate the exact direction of the tunnel."

"I recall how distracted you were on our way back to Baker Street earlier. You were searching for a possible target on your phone?"  The familiar glimpse of proud flickered in Sherlock eyes.

"Yes, you're right.  The major institution in this direction was the Diamonds Exchange.  I quickly found an article about how proud they were to get the biggest lot of diamonds that they ever had. Kind of silly if you think about it... Building a massive vault but broadcasting at large that it's full of precious gems. Lestrade contact Mr. Merryweather and _voila_!"

"And how could you know that tonight was the night?" I asked.

"First, they closed the League. That was a clear sign that they did not care about Wilson's presence any longer and that their tunnel was completed. But they had to act quickly because the diamonds will not stay in the vault forever. I trigger them to act by asking our client to stay out of the shop Saturday night as well as Sunday." 

"That was amazing, as always." I murmur with real admiration.

"It saved me from boredom... Too bad I already feel it closing in upon me again. My life is one long attempt to escape boredom." He raised his glass and after a sip let go a profound sigh.

"Your race against boredom has helped catch more than one criminal!" I wasn't able to stop a benevolent smile from appearing on my lips.

He only shrugged his shoulders, melancholic. "Perhaps my troubled mind is of some use to the public," he sighs again. "As Flaubert wrote to Sand, 'L'homme c'est rien - l'oeuvre c'est tout'... I am nothing but the Work."

I was once more amazed of how little value Sherlock put on his life, behind the false bravado. This side of him, insecure and unable to comprehend his own worth... was the real man. The man that only a few had the chance to know. Mycroft told me, in secret, that he was seeing a therapist to help him deal with all this, so I let it slide for now.  My smile deepened as I replenished our glasses as I found a subject to bring back Sherlock from is melancholic post-case state.

"So.... Eton and Oxford? You never told me that! You preppy snobby boy!  That's explained a lot!"

"I had to go to school somewhere! My parents' choice, not mine! It was the nearest to our home!"

"And we never talked about that burned down family mansion of yours. Should I called you 'Sir' from now on?"

"Shut up!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Give me the bloody bottle, I need another drink!"

The morning was now sneaking thru the curtain, as our laughter echoed in the flat. 

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, thanks for reading! Merci tout le monde :)
> 
> Please write a comment or left kudos if you enjoy the story and let me know that you've read till the end lol
> 
> I will do more of this classic re-edition. The Adventure of the Cardboard Box is currently in production. What are your favorite adventures?

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A secret trap](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11364228) by [MorganeUK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorganeUK/pseuds/MorganeUK)




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